


Burning Shadows (On hiatus until further notice)

by stillwater_writes



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Other, Reader-Insert, more or less that level of violence, post-true pascifist ending, some death at some point, spy!Grillby, there'll be guns too, think James Bond movies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillwater_writes/pseuds/stillwater_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Work as an assassin has always been an easy job. Planning, studding up on targets, taking them out and getting rid of the evidence, the injuries and occasional fight for your life. Even the cold and calculated numbness of it all didn't really matter. The exchange of life for money, the fear in the eyes of people when they hear your name. Never really being able to have friends or a family. None of it mattered. Hundreds of jobs, hundreds of lives, hundreds of paychecks. You did what you had to and sometimes even enjoyed yourself. It was routine.<br/>---<br/>A very special job crosses your boss' desk. Not some contract for a politician or industrial leader, no diplomat or revolutionary. A spy. A new twist on the old humdrum. A very new twist indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Contract

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [James Bond, Eat Your Heart Out](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355500) by [Sazuka57](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sazuka57/pseuds/Sazuka57). 



> (who has a Tumblr (http://sazuka57.tumblr.com/))
> 
> Edit: Credit for the spy!Grillby AU go to somekangarookid (http://somekangarookid.tumblr.com/), sushinfood (http://sushinfood.tumblr.com/) and mrsecondwind (http://mrsecondwind.tumblr.com/)
> 
> First chapter, woo! Anyway, the POV switches a few times in this, though don't worry later chapters won't do this (or rarely if they do).

          Your boss’s office is dim, though that’s not unusual. He’s sitting behind the desk, hands folded in front of his face.

          “Are you ready for your next assignment?” He already knows the answer, but still asks anyway. You incline your head at him and he chuckles slightly. “Alright then.” He pulls out a folder and places it in the pool of light that his desk lamp casts. You raise an eyebrow slightly. The folder is much larger than what you’re used to seeing, it’s overflowing with papers and pictures. He laughs at your reaction. “You see, this assignment is very special. Your primary target isn’t some politician or industrial leader this time. He’s a spy, and a very good one at that. His jobs have been mainly cooperate in nature, though he’s been moving deeper into the world of espionage as of late.” It’s your turn to laugh. _A spy? Perfect. It’s been so long since the job actually had some challenge._ He listens to your laughter patently, waiting until it dies down before speaking again. “You seem interested,” He says, a small amused smirk on his face, “But don’t get too excited. There’s still one more thing you need to know about your target.” You raise both eyebrows this time. _Something more?_

          He leans forward and slowly opens the folder, revealing a picture of your mark. You break into a wide smile looking at the picture. _This makes things interesting._ You reach out and take the picture, examining it closely. _Very, very interesting._ Your boss leans back in his chair thinking quietly for a minute. He then leans forward placing his hands on the desk and looks up at you. “So,” he says, “is the deadly Nightshade up for the job?” His tone is a bit sarcastic and teasing. You start laughing again. Instead of answering out loud you grab the rest of the folder and slip the picture back inside. He looks satisfied and nods at you. You nod back and turn, beginning to walk out the office. “One more thing,” he calls after you. You stop for a second and turn back slightly. “The folder contains dossiers on not only your target, but some of the other agents in his group. From what we were able to gather one is a particularly dangerous.” You roll your eyes slightly. It doesn’t matter how dangerous he is considered to be. You’ll finish the job.

          “You know I’ll get it done.” You say. He shakes his head slightly, amusement coloring his features.

          “Good.” You turn and make your way out of the office. _Good indeed._

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

          The bar is quiet today. Not many people have come in, but that’s not too much of a surprise. Wednesdays are usually slow, but that’s fine with Grillby. It gives him more time to plan. He doesn’t need planning time today, but still the quiet is welcome. He’s just wiping down a glass when the door opens with a soft jingle. He looks up to see who’s arrived. It’s Sans and he doesn’t look very happy. _What exactly could be bothering him this much?_ The skeleton crosses the bar relatively quickly, coming to sit on his usual stool.

          “What’ll it be?” Grillby asks in his usual quiet voice. Sans starts slightly, and looks up at the bartender. The lights normally present in his sockets are gone leaving only a black void. He blinks and the small lights return, but Grillby can’t stop the concern that springs up. Things must be pretty bad. Sans normally isn’t that serous or concerned.

          “I’ll have… uh… the…” Sans’ voice trails off as he looks around the rest of the bar warily. “I’ll have the vegetable soup.” Grillby’s eyebrows shoot up. _Things are that bad?_ He says nothing to Sans, nodding instead and walking back to the kitchen to get the soup. Vegetable soup is a code of course, and it means that there’s a direct and close threat. _What is it?_ Grillby finishes pouring the soup into the bowl and leaves the kitchen. He places the bowl down in front of Sans.

          “Enjoy the soup,” he says, voice as warm and level as usual. He waits for a second as Sans picks up his spoon.

          “Meeting. Tonight. 1830. You know the place.” Sans quietly and hastily says. He then dips the spoon in the soup and starts to eat. After a few spoonfuls he looks up and says “Good soup.” Grillby merely nods. Accepting the complement and assuring he knows where to go at the same time. Sans sighs quietly and downs the rest of the bowl. He puts the bowl down and then stretches. He gets off of the stool and turns to go. “Put it on my tab.” He says and then walks out. Grillby moves over a bit to pick up the bowl and spoon. He then heads over to the sink and places them in it. He’ll clean them later. Now he must wait. _It’s going to be a long day._

_\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

 

          You’re sitting at home. Well, ‘home’ is a relative term. This isn’t really your home, it’s just a small apartment set up for your assignment, but it still serves as a roof over your head. The wait had been annoying though. Setting it up ahead of time was impossible so you had to wait a bit for the papers to go through. In the end it was worth it though. The apartment isn’t too bare and there’s a nice chair and table in the living room, which you are currently sitting at. The folder is open on the desk, papers and photos spread out with the other agent dossiers in a stack off to the side. You’re currently looking through the list of know aliases for your target. It seems he goes by ‘Grillby’ most often. That’s likely his real name, but you can’t be sure. To your amusement it appears he has used the name ‘Nightlight’ before. Why anyone would use that as a name is beyond you. Though, if you’re really being honest you can’t really judge. ‘Nightshade’ isn’t really the most common of names, but it does hold a certain air of mystery that suits you just fine. You shake your head slightly, breaking that train of thought. You have to stay focused at the task at hand. The rest of the names are most assuredly human in origin and have each only been used once. The likelihood of any of these names being his is minimal to nonexistent at best. So Grillby it is.

          You pick up a stack of pictures and start to look through them. _It fits pretty well,_ you think looking at the fiery orange man. The first few pictures are of him at a bar. Using a bit of common sense you deduce that the place is owned by him. You don’t need the bank records to tell you that. The place has a giant neon sign spelling out his name for crying out loud.

          There are two things in the pictures that stay consistent, the color and height of his flame. Red orange and of a medium height. You flip to another picture and frown slightly. Instead of the normal medium red orange man, this picture contains a pale yellow fire elemental with quite low flames. You flip to another and again, the elemental looks different. This time light blue, almost white with flames so wild you’re surprised his clothes aren’t singed. It takes a few seconds of close scrutiny for you to realize that it’s still the same guy in both. _So. It seems he can not only change the color, but the height of his flames as well. That could complicate things a bit._ You put that little tidbit of information away for later. You flip to another picture and look at it intently. It looks like it was taken from quite far away with a relatively bad telescopic lens. You sigh slightly. People being incompetent doesn’t make your job any easier. You shuffle through the other pictures until you find a better one. This one is from a security camera, if the time stamp at the bottom corner is any indication. It once again has Grillby in it, but there’s someone else with him. You narrow your eyes and scrutinize this companion. Whoever it is looks to be on the shorter side and is casually dressed in a hoodie, track pants and a pair of slippers. The person has their back to the camera and hood pulled up, so no luck on comparing their face to that of the other agents. You frown a bit more, annoyed at the lack of information before you notice something. This person is gesturing with their hand. Their **skeletal** hand. _Ah ha._ You reach over to the dossier stack and grab the one off the top. You flip through it until you find the agent’s description.

          A shorter skeleton who is casually dressed, often seen wearing slippers and a blue hoodie. The one in the picture fits the description perfectly. So it seems that the one in the picture is ‘Sans’. You take a look through the rest of the information, stopping at the pages describing battle ability. The information is pitiful. You grunt, annoyed at the amateurish work. There’s a brief description of his magical abilities, bone attacks in both white and blue, gravity manipulation magic and… lasers? You blink startled. _Did I read that correctly?_  You go over the information again. Apparently you did read it correctly. He has blasters that fire concentrated magic. There’s also a note about some kind of side effect from being hit by his attacks, but it’s vague at best. And below that someone wrote **Extremely Dangerous. Use Caution.** You snort, slightly amused. _Well no kidding._ You shake your head and turn to a different page, looking to see if there’s anything that you can use against him if need be.

          He has a brother named ‘Papyrus’ who is also a skeleton monster, though what little information you have on him shows that he isn’t in any way a threat. He could be a useful hostage though. He’s not overly strong and flat out refuses to kill. You smile slightly, amused. _Heh. He wouldn’t last two seconds in this world._ You toss the papers on Papyrus to the side. The odds of you encountering him in a hostile situation are incredibly low. And even if you do, the paper is so vague about his abilities it’s more or less useless in terms of giving a tactical advantage. A few well-placed blows and he’s down, that’s the usual.

          You reach over to the table and replace some of the photos you had been still holding, instead opting to pick up the contract itself. You had the basics, but looking it over wouldn’t hurt. You skim over it a bit, eyes widening slightly at who put out the hit. Terrence Righton. You let out a low whistle. Messing with Righton is akin to asking for death. The general public knows him as some really rich guy who owns a lot of companies and holds a good deal of influence, but that’s not the half of it. He’s head of the largest organization in the underworld, the Red Hearts. The name may be a bit childish, but the organization sure as hell isn’t. They’re responsible for so many disappearances and ‘accidents’ that you’re not even sure a record of their entire exploits exists. Breaking off that train of thought, a frown appears on your face as you read over the terms that he set and the price he’ll pay. _He wants me to take out not only this Grillby, but other members of his organization too?_ You double check the figure under payment making an annoyed and slightly disgusted sound. _He thinks that that’s enough compensation for taking on an entire organization, especially a high risk one?_ You shake your head a bit, annoyance simmering. _This would be too little even for a minimal risk job._ You reach over to the table and pick up the disposable cell phone on it and flip it open. With annoyed fervor you dial the new number that your boss gave you for this assignment. As the phone rings you impatiently drum your fingers on the arm of the chair. Finally, he picks up;

          “What is it?” You sit for a second, trying to figure out how to best word what you want to say. Eventually you just decide to be blunt.

          “We have to talk about my fee. This isn’t anywhere near enough. Factoring in risk and possible count the payment should be triple. Easily.” You hear your boss sigh and you can tell that he’s about to say something, but you cut him off before he can. “Before you ask, I’m aware of who we’re dealing with here. But, that doesn’t mean I’m changing policies. If he wants to underpay, he can underpay someone else.” Your boss is silent for a minute before letting out another sigh.

          “I’ll see what I can do.” He hangs up before you can say anything else. You snap the phone shut, annoyed. _This job isn’t easy you know. If I’m doing work I better be paid for it._ You let out a sigh now. _I guess I just have to wait._ You toss the phone back onto the desk and pick up a few papers. _Even if I drop the job it won’t hurt to know a little bit about people I may have to deal with in the near future._ You turn back to the information and look at it for a second. _Know what? Screw it._ You grab the phone again and dial the familiar number. It rings for a second before a slightly singsong voice answers;

          “Kind Design, home of the sweetest interior designers you’ll ever know~! What can I do for you~?” You snicker slightly before answering.

          “I don’t remember getting this warm a greeting last time” your tone is teasing “are you expecting a call from someone _special_ Trace?” On the other end you hear an excited gasp and the sound of someone shifting in their chair.

          “Hon is that really you? It’s been too long~!” You laugh at that, ever since the first time the two of you met Trace has been calling you Hon, or Darling or by some nickname or other. You’d been a bit off put at first, mostly because it seemed like he couldn’t be serious or professional, though those fears were quickly dismissed. You realize that you’ve been silent for quite a while when Trace clears his throat and you bring your thoughts back to the present.

          “Yeah, it’s been a while hasn’t it?” you shrug even though he can’t see it “I just haven’t needed your expertise lately. Or rather…” you pause a second “I haven’t needed to call you myself in a while.” He’s silent for a few seconds before responding;

          “Mmmm~ can’t be helped I guess. I’m guessing that this isn’t just a call to say hello?” Before you can respond he continues “In that case give me a second sweetie~. I need to ensure that this will be for our ears only.” You can hear Trace set down the phone and get up. There’s nothing distinguishable for a few seconds, but then you hear hushed voices and the sound of a door closing and then his footsteps as Trace returns to the desk and settles back into his chair before picking up the phone again. “All set, we won’t be interrupted. So then, what can I do for you?” You stay silent for a second, wondering if this is really the best idea. _I could get him and myself killed._ You grit your teeth and mentally let out a sigh. _I had to say I wanted something new._

          “I need everything you can get on the… Red Hearts.” You hear a sharp inhale followed by a low whistle.

          “That’s some pretty dangerous stuff. Please don’t tell me you’re somehow involved with them now.” All of the energy and slight teasing has vanished from his voice, instead replaced by a businesslike if worried tone. You let out a loud sigh and rub the side of your head.

          “If by involved you mean joined, no. I’ve got a new assignment and you’ll never guess who the client is.” You inject a bit of tired and weary sarcasm into that, already feeling like something is going to go very wrong. “The big man himself. It seems that there’s someone either crazy enough or ignorant enough to piss him off.” Trace lets out a slightly strangled sound.

          “Righton?! You have a contract from him!? Please don’t tell me that you need this information because you’re going to do something stupid! Or have already done so!” The worry and slight hysteria in his voice makes you cringe.

          “No, no, nothing like that.” The lie comes easily to you. “I just want to be prepared in case everything goes to hell. Besides, you know me. I may be a bit nuts by most standards, but I don’t have a death wish!” You sit for a few silent seconds as Trace thinks. Eventually he lets out a low sigh.

          “I’ll see what I can do. Though…” He’s silent for a second “You have to promise me something. **Promise me you won’t get yourself killed.** ” You cringe at the sharpness and pain in his tone. After a few seconds of strained silence you reply, trying to add a bit of lightness to your voice.

          “What, and leave my favorite informant without one of his best customers? Not in a million years.” He lets out a quiet if slightly pained chuckle.

          “Alright then darling. I’ll hold you to your word, don’t let me down. I’ll call back soon with a time and place for the drop.” Gratitude toward your friend bubbles up, you know that he’ll never let you down. Guilt for lying to him creeps up too, and you’re almost tempted tell him the truth, that you’ve already done something potentially stupid.

          “Thanks Trace. I owe you. Maybe sometime we can grab lunch or something like that.”

          “Sounds like a plan” The energy from before has returned to his voice partially “I’m to assume that I should call you back at this number?”

          “Yeah.” You’re silent of a second “Really, though I can’t thank you enough Trace. Hopefully I’ll see you relatively soon.”

          “Let’s hope so. Until then, I bid you adieu.” You laugh slightly.

          “Goodbye for now” You end the conversation and snap the phone shut. _Here’s hoping that I haven’t royally screwed myself._ You shake your head and place the phone back on the table. Now you have to wait. You lean back in your chair and rub your temples. _This is already turning out to be one hell of an assignment._

_\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

 

          Closing time couldn’t have come soon enough as far as Grillby was concerned. Trying to focus on the mundane tasks involved in running the bar had been nearly impossible after the bombshell that Sans had dropped earlier. The soup code was worrying enough, but being called in for a meeting? That was almost unheard of. He’d always had assignments left in various places in the storage room. He hasn’t even been to the main base of the organization since he was first recruited. _Something awful must be going on._

          Lost in thought Grillby drops his keys while locking up and swears silently. _I really need to get my head together._ He bends down and snatches up the keys, locking and then double checking the doors before walking off. He checks his watch. 5:30. Enough time to head home before leaving for the meeting. He buries his hands in his coat pockets and continues his brisk walk, apprehension looming over him.

\-----

          Grillby strolls down the block, looking considerably calmer than he feels. He checks the time. 6:15. More than enough time to reach the meeting place. He continues on, trying and failing to enjoy the early autumn air. A few more paces and he stops in front of a small and quaint shop. **Agatha’s Candles.** He reaches out and pulls the door open, the bell on the inside making a quiet jingle to announce his arrival. As he steps in the smell of a multitude of scented candles assaults him and he recoils slightly, expression twisted with disgust and flames shuddering. _Now I remember why I never wanted to come back here._ He had to admit though, if a person wanted to hide something doing so behind a veritable wall of awful smells was a pretty ingenious idea.

          Grillby forces himself to enter, shuddering slightly as the door clicks shut behind him and removes the possibility of fresh, not candle scented air coming in. Not wanting spend any more time than necessary in that awful smelling place he hastily makes his way through the isles until he comes to the counter and the smiling elderly woman behind it.

          “Hello dearie” she warmly greets. “Is there anything I can do for you?” Grillby nods slightly.

          “Yes ma’am. I was hoping to purchase some custom candles.” The inquiry into custom candles was one of the many codes he had to memorize when first joining the organization. They were quite silly to him, but they did their job. The lady looks up at him expression as warm as before, but he can tell she’s scrutinizing him.

          “How would you like them?” He hesitates for a second, the response he’s supposed to say has always seemed quite absurd.

          “As tall as possible.” The lady’s smile gets a bit brighter as she moves away from the counter and gestures for Grillby to follow.

          “Right this way. Let’s take a look at the possibilities.” She leads him into a small back room that’s stuffed full of various tools, bottles and other things. It’s her workshop. The lady stops in the center of the room, expression sly as she gestures at a seemingly blank wall. “Well go on now. You don’t want to keep a person waiting do you?” Grillby nods slightly in response.

          “Thank you” The lady laughs.

          “No need to thank me.” With that she heads back out into the front of the shop. Grillby watches as she leaves and then shakes his head slightly, amused. _She’s quite the interesting person._ Turning to the wall she had gestured at only moments before, he presses his hand to a slightly different colored section waiting a few seconds before taking it away. A few seconds later the wall appears to melt away, revealing a pair of silver elevator doors. They open with a nearly inaudible ping and Grillby steps inside. _Magic and human technology working together is truly incredible._ He turns just as the doors slide shut and the elevator begins its descent. The ride is silent, only broken by the soft ping of the door opening when the final destination is reached.

          The hallway that greets him is a modern if plain one. Grillby steps out, his shoes squeaking faintly on the shiny and polished floor. He continues down the hall a little ways before stopping at the reception desk and offering the cheerful bird lady behind it a warm smile.

          “Grillby!” she trills “It’s fantastic to see you again! If only the circumstances were better, huh?” He nods in agreement. If only. “No time to dwell on that now though!” she rummages in one of the desk’s draws for a few seconds before producing a laminated badge. “You have a meeting to get to.” She hands the badge to Grillby before turning back to the draw she pulled it from. “And I have a desk to organize. I’ll see you later then, hmm?” He laughs slightly.

          “Of course. You’ll see me on the way out.” He clips the badge to his shirt “And thank you.”

          “No problem.” Her response is a bit muffled. It seems she’s under the desk for some reason or another. Grillby chuckles lightly as he walks off. He has always enjoyed her company.

\---

          It takes very little time for him to find the meeting room thanks to the absolutely absurd number of signs on the walls and the enthusiastic direction of anyone he came across. It turned out to be quite necessary though, even with a simple path the place is like a maze. Anyone who didn’t exactly know where they were going would surely get lost.

          The first thing Grillby notes about the meeting room is how full it is. Most of the seats are occupied. The second thing is how dead quiet it is in there. As he moves to find a seat he surveys all of the people gathered. Sans is there, and unsurprisingly appears to be asleep. There are a few others he recognizes and a few he doesn’t among those gathered. Surprisingly, at the head of the table sits Gerson. Just as Grillby takes his seat the old turtle clears his throat.

          “Now that we’re all gathered the meeting can proceed.” _They were waiting on me_? Grillby quickly checks his watch. 6:30 on the dot. He wasn’t late, so everyone else must have been early. Another thing to add to his unease. This unease only increases as he realizes just how serious Gerson’s voice had been. The old turtle was known for being teasing to a fault, even keeping a light tone in the most hopeless and sad of times. Grillby hadn’t heard him this serious in a very long time. He has to suppress a slight shudder. _It’s that bad?_ Everyone else in the room seemed to pick up on this too, if the slight shifting sounds and quiet whispers are any indication. Gerson clears his throat again in an attempt to get everyone to settle down. “Now, as you’re all aware, this situation is a very serious one. We’re facing a threat unlike any we’ve seen before.” He taps the table a few times and the large monitor behind him sparks to life, displaying various things as he continues to speak. “We’re used to general things, threats of lawsuits, threats to expose us or even a few death threats. They could be a bit intimidating, but more often than not they amount to nothing. This time however,” he stops tapping on the screen as a large number of documents pop up on the monitor “is much, much different. Our head of intelligence has been monitoring chatter for a good while now on the order of the director, and today she intercepted something that scares even her.” Gerson pauses and looks around the room, his old gaze steely. “There’s been a contract put out. It extends to the organization, but is primarily set on one agent.” The room explodes with voices. Everyone’s freaking out. Who put it out? Do we know who took the job? Do we know who the target is?! Grillby is in as much shock as the rest of the room. _A contract? On us? Why? Who have we messed with enough for this? On second thought, how do they even know about us?_

          As all other members in the room are lost in chaos, Sans give Gerson a significant look, panic clear on his face. The turtle shakes his head slightly and the skeleton’s face floods with relief. As Sans flops back in his chair Gerson raps his hand against the table.

          “Calm down now. Panicking won’t do anyone any good.” It takes a while, but eventually the room settles down, everyone lapsing into a tense silence. The old turtle nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, all of you stay quiet and let me explain. The contract” he taps the screen in front of him and one of the documents on the monitor becomes larger “was put out three days ago. It’s a fairly extensive one, encompassing the entire organization as a secondary objective to the elimination of the main target.”

          “Yeah?! But who is it?!” One of the people in the room shouts.

          “And who put it out in the first place? Who has that much of a grudge?!” yells another.

          “Do we kno-“A third person begins to speak but it cut off by Gerson’s furious roar.

          “WOULD YOU ALL SHUT UP!” he lets out a long breath that seems to echo in the stunned silence of the room. “I was getting there. Now…”Gerson pauses and Grillby edges forward in his seat slightly, curiosity mingling with fear. _Will it be someone I know? Or one of the people I don’t recognize?_ He’s offered slight relief by the fact that Sans isn’t the target if the look he had shared with Gerson was any indication. Grillby knows how stressful this all must be for his friend, especially with how much he worries about Papyrus. The tension in the room rises as Gerson continues to stay silent. Dread begins to creep up Grillby’s spine. _No… it couldn’t be…?_ Gerson’s gaze flickers to him for a split second and the dread grows exponentially. _It is._ “The agent whose name is on the contract…” he pauses again, distress evident on his face.

          “… It’s me, isn’t it?” All eyes snap to Grillby and Gerson nods solemnly.

          “Aye. You are the primary target.” Grillby’s so numb with shock that he barely notices the pained expressions worn by both of his close friends. _Why specifically me? What..?_

          “Do we know who took the job? Or which SOB put it out in the first place?” Several people including Grillby jump. Sans’ voice is so vicious that several others visibly shudder. Gerson appears to be unfazed.

          “Remember, right now we don’t have much information. We just got this news only hours ago.” He lets out a breath. “We don’t know who specifically put out the contract, but we’re working on it. As for who took the job, well” he taps at the table for a few seconds and pulls up a large number of papers “We know as much as there is to know about them, their work alias.”

          “Which is?” Sans demands tightly.

          “Nightshade.” There are several gasps in the room and a few people go pale while others merely look confused. Gerson nods grimly. “For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about, let me explain. Nightshade has been called one of the best assassins of the last decade. In all of their years of work they have almost never failed. That on its own would be incredibly impressive, but it’s made even more unthinkable when you look at their jobs.” He taps through document after document, far faster than anyone could ever hope to read. “The majority of their missions have been described as impossible or even suicidal, but they come out of them alive every time.” Gerson pauses and lets out a frustrated breath. “Even more incredible is how little the world actually knows about them. The general public doesn’t even know that they exist, and the only thing anyone in our world knows of them is their reputation and code name.” He stops talking and eyes everyone in the room.  All of their faces are frozen in various expressions of shock. After a few seconds of deliberation he shuts off the screen with a few taps. “This sort of situation in unprecedented to us here. As information and options are posed you’ll be briefed, but right now this is all we’ve got.” Gerson grunts slightly as he stands up. “Now, everyone except Sans and Grillby are dismissed.” he holds up a hand before anyone can protest “If you want to try and find out more, head to the information division. Now get out of here.”

          As the room fills with unhappy mutters and the sound of scraping chairs Grillby remains rooted to his seat, mind reeling. _The best assassin of the decade? And they’re after me._ He buries his face in hands, attempting to keep some level of composure. Everything’s going to hell faster than he thought physically possible. He had always known that work as a spy was a dangerous prospect, but this? He barely reacts when Gerson places a hand on his shoulder.

          “You’ll get through this. I know you will. You’ve faced worse, and besides you’ve got all of us here.” He lets out a sigh. “Grillby, look at me.” No reaction. The olds turtle lets out another sigh. “We’ll get you through this. Just you wait and see.” With that he walks off to the other end of the room and begins to quietly speak to Sans, leaving Grillby to think about what he said and possibly regain some composure.

\---

          It takes a decent while for Grillby’s mind to finally sort itself out and even longer for him to want to even think about going home. He eventually does though, standing up and sighing as his stiff legs complain about being used. He had been sitting for far too long. Gerson and Sans had left a little while ago, saying something about visiting intelligence.

          It takes a little while, but Grillby finally leaves the meeting room and then pauses in the hall weighing options. He could see about getting some more information on the situation, but no. Not right now. He’s both physically and emotionally exhausted, not to mention he has to open the bar tomorrow. Gerson promised to help out and Grillby trusts the old turtle. He always has some kind of scheme or another. Heading toward the exit he briefly stops at the reception desk to return the badge. Just as he’s leaving the receptionist calls out.

          “Hey Grillby wait a second! I’m supposed to give this to you!” Curious, Grillby turns back to find her standing in front of him, holding some kind of card thing. “Here you go.” She extends her wing and places the object in Grillby’s hand. He looks it over for a few seconds, confused.

          “What exactly is this?” The lady shrugs before turning back toward her desk.

          “No clue. Gerson just said I had to make sure to give it to you and that you need to keep it close by. Anyway, uh…” she pauses for a second and turns back slightly “take care of yourself, okay?” Grillby gives her a weak smile.

          “I’ll do the best I can.” She nods slightly.

          “That’s all I ask.” With that Grillby turns and heads back to the elevator, the strange card thing tucked in his pocket and mind a million miles away.


	2. Mission: Start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said that there wouldn't be much perspective switching after the first chapter, but there's still a bit of it here. Just an FYI.

         Your preparation over the last two days has been painstaking. Taking the dossiers given to you and recreating them in a much more organized format, studying up on the local culture and history a bit, making a plan of action, creating your cover story and of course, searching through the information that Trace was able to get for you. It was pretty useful for negotiation actually, it gave you some insight into just how to push Righton on payment without shoving him over the edge. Now you were just about set. All you had to do was to wait for the last few pieces of your cover story puzzle to arrive. You glance at the clock. 11:45. They still have a little time before they’re late. You glance down at the plan you had drawn up after the price negotiation snafu was settled.

         It starts with observation, investigating both Grillby’s place of residence and business and mapping down a general daily routine. A sub-objective under that is to gauge public opinion of him. People will notice if someone they like has disappeared pretty quickly, especially if they run some sort of establishment. Which leads to one of your next hurdles, making him disappear without raising suspicion in the general public. Not a simple task by any stretch of the mind. If you’re lucky though, an opportunity may just present itself. There’s also his organization, but they’re a side objective, and if you do everything right they’ll come to you.

         Your musing is interrupted by a light knock at the door. _That must be them._ You place the sheet of paper in your grip into its folder and stride toward the door, pausing to check through the peephole. _Yup. It’s them._ You unlock the deadbolt and chain before pulling open the door, a bright smile plastered on your face.

         “It’s good to see you all.” You survey the faces of the group of people that stand before you. They all look like they’ve just been insulted. You fume internally. _Idiots._ “Won’t you come in? It must be unpleasant standing out in the hall.” You wave your arm in a grand sweeping gesture, indicating that they should come in. One by one the four people standing in the doorway enter the apartment. You shut the door and then turn to them, smile vanishing.

         “What the hell was that?!” Demands one of the people standing closest to you. Daren. That’s his name. It fits pretty well, with his dark brown hair, slight stubble and ‘rough around the edges outfit’. Even the expression currently on his face fits. Just the right mix of incredulous and arrogant with a good amount of childishly angry confusion.

         “That Daren,” you say as you walk toward the apartment window “is called acting. You may want to try doing it some time.” You punctuate the statement by pulling the window open, allowing the cool, fresh air to flow inside. “In fact,” you say as you turn to face the group again, “you all may want to try it, because it looks to me like you’ve never done it before.” Four faces turn bright red with anger and just as they’re about to explode at you, you hold up a finger. “Ah-ah. None of that. Or have you forgotten who’s paying you?” They all snap their mouths shut and glare. “Good. Now, will someone tell me what that pathetic display was?”

         “The hell are you talking about? What pathetic display?” Snaps one of the ladies. Beth. That’s her name. You arch an eyebrow, a slightly disdainful look on your face. Silently, you survey the four annoyed and expectant faces. Daren, Beth, Matthew and Natalia. The four that had glowing reviews for both their acting chops and willingness to keep a secret for a good chunk of cash. _Ready for anything? Ha!_ After letting the silence stretch on for a good while longer, just enough to make them to start shifting uncomfortably you speak;

         “I’m speaking of what I saw in the hallway and what I see before me right now.” You pause and give that a second to sink in. Once confusion has filled each and every one of their faces, you continue. “ ** _This._** This break of character. I expect the four of you to act like the old friends we’re all supposed to be. I hired you to make my story credible, but how will that happen when you all act like a child that’s forgotten their line?” You gaze at the foursome as the briefest sparks of realization dawn on their faces. It takes a few seconds, but eventually Natalia speaks up.

         “But, we’re not friends. Not here anyway. We’re professionals hired by you to do a job.” The pompous tone to her voice grates on you, but it’s exactly what you’re looking for. You snap your fingers and then point at her.

         “That’s exactly what I’m talking about! Yes, I have hired you and yes, you are professionals. The thing is, you are not to act like that unless I explicitly say it’s okay. It’s clearly stated in the contracts I gave the four of you, so you should know this.” Both Daren and Matthew shift slightly and Beth coughs lightly while an embarrassed blush spreads across Natalia’s face. Your arm drops to hang back by your side as you stare in dumbstruck awe. _Did seriously none of them read the contract? And they call themselves professionals!_ You turn back toward the window and massage the bridge of your nose in an attempt to fight the headache creeping up on you. _Who doesn’t read the contract?!_ You let out a deep breath before turning back to the group. ”Fine then. You all know now. Unless I explicitly tell you to break character, don’t.” You hold up a hand before anyone can speak. “And if you’re wondering, you can currently break the character you weren’t even in in the first place.” They visibly relax slightly, with Matthew even letting out a quiet sigh. You lean your forehead against one of your hands, slight despair rising up as the headache presses once more. _I’ve just wasted a substantial sum of cash on these four, haven’t I?_ You’re pulled from your miserable reprieve by a strange squeaking sound. Your head snaps up, suspicion among other things flashing through you as you look about, trying to determine the source. Your gaze settles on Daren, whose face is twisted with fear and slight disgust. “What now?” Your tone is harsher than you thought it would be, but you don’t really care.

         “A-a s-s-spi- a s-spi-spider! A-a-a b-big one!” He extends a slightly shaking arm and points to the wall behind you. You watch as the gazes of Beth, Natalia and Matthew snap to the place he’s pointing at and you smile slightly in amusement as their faces take on various levels of disgust and fear as well.

         “A spider huh? Scary.” Your voice contains a good amount of dry sarcasm as you turn to look at the wall as well. Sure enough, there’s a rather large spider. Well, large for normal standards anyway. It’s sitting on the wall near the window and doesn’t appear to be doing anything in particular. You let out a slightly drawn-out sigh and walk to the wall and inspect the spider a bit more. It appears to be a regular spider. Round black body, spindly legs, eight little eyes. You frown slightly and look closer, instinct telling you there’s more to this spider than you think. The spider suddenly jerks its’ head to face you and you have to fight the instinct to jump back slightly and grin at the same time. The eyes starting up at you are undoubtedly intelligent, with a hint of curiosity in them. The spider appears to be studying you. _Very interesting._ Cautiously you reach out to the spider and gently coax it onto your hand.

         “Come on now,” you whisper “back outside little one.” You move slightly over to the window and then softly push the spider off your hand onto the small windowsill outside. You make sure the spider is staying where it is before shutting and locking the window. You turn to find four startled and vaguely disgusted faces.

         “W-why d-did you d-do that?” The both the fear and stammer in Daren’s voice have lessened significantly, but the disgust and shock have gone up greatly. You hesitate slightly, _Should I tell them?_ After a few seconds of deliberation you finally recognize the implication behind his words and any thought about informing them of how unique the spider was leaves your mind. Annoyed, you speak.

          “I put the spider outside.” The slight skepticism that mingles with the emotion on his face annoys you even more. “What? Were you expecting me to squish it? To kill it? Maybe to pull its legs off?” Your voice is harsh and has a bit of a bitter undertone to it. It’s obvious that Daren picks up on it if how his face pales is any indication.

         “N-no that’s not what… I didn’t…” You hold up a hand and he falls silent.

         “I do what has to be done.” Your voice is tight and cold. Even if you don’t mind what the job entails, you’ve always hated this reaction. The assumption that you always enjoy the killing. That you’re some kind of maniac who tortures people. That you’re just a… a sociopathic monster. You turn and gaze silently at the wall. _I only do what I have to._ You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. _What I have to._ Your gaze drifts over to the clock. 12:30. _Wait… 12:30? Crap!_ You turn quickly and the four visibly jump. “We’ve wasted too much time already. There’s a bar we have to get to.” You ignore the surprised looks on their faces as you head to the door. Once there you stop and turn back to look at the four before irritably snapping your fingers. “Come on. It’s time for five friends to enjoy a lunch out.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

         Grillby doesn’t open the bar on Thursday or Friday. He doesn’t even leave the house. He just stays inside all day, disinterestedly flicking through the thousands of TV channels while trying to fully comprehend and sort everything out. _My life is in danger. And I can’t do anything about it._ At least the last time he’d been in a situation like this there was a clearly defined threat. A large and obvious force that he could prepare for. Traps could be set, strategy made days in advance, battlefields that could be prepared. But this? A game of variables. A stranger he knows nothing about. Not their name, appearance or age. Nothing. Someone completely unknown. He could run into them on the street, in a store or even in his own bar and be none the wiser. It’s infuriating and terrifying at the same time. _I have to bide my time. Gerson said that he’s on it and I trust him._ He flicks through a few channels. _And I know firsthand how good Muffet is at her job. No one can hide information from her for long. But still…_ With an annoyed huff he shuts off the TV and gets off the couch. _I hate this._

         Grillby walks over to the wall, surveying his extensive shelf of books and movies, hoping that something there will catch his eye. Nothing does. With a disgruntled sigh he turns from the shelf and heads into the kitchen. He glances at the clock. _Almost 6. I suppose I should make some dinner. Something simple I think._ It takes him a few minutes to decide on what to make. _Breaded and fried chicken with crispy potatoes. Perfect._ After grabbing everything he needs out of cabinets and fridge, Grillby gets to work. He breezes about the kitchen with ease and grace that comes from years and years of practice. He works on muscle memory more than anything, his mind wandering as the room is filled with the tantalizing smell of cooking food and sizzling that comes along with it. _I’m going to open the bar tomorrow. Two days off is certainly long enough. Besides, if I’m gone too long people might start to worry._ He grabs the plate he had placed on the counter earlier and transfers his now well-done meal onto it. _And, anyway tomorrow’s Saturday. Biggest lunch rush of the week._ He takes a seat at the small dining room table and absentmindedly begins to eat, paying no mind to the current steaming hot state of the food. Heat is of no concern when it comes to him, of course.

         Once finished he feels considerably better. It’s quite amazing what a good plate of food can do for you. He checks the time. _About 6:30. I’d better call in soon._ This was one of the protocols that he’d been informed of once he got home on Wednesday. Call in every few hours while alone and keep the card he’d been given near at all times. What exactly it is, he’s not sure, but since people he trust gave it to him it must be important in some way. Grillby gets up from his chair, stretching slightly. He doesn’t need to per say, but it’s still a pretty relaxing action. _Alright. Time to call in, then clean up a bit and I’ll call it a night. The morning always comes early._

\-------

         The sun is only partially up, its weak morning rays casting a soft glow over the city. Grillby pauses for a second, enjoying the feeling of the soft, cool breeze flitting past. He’d missed this so much. Life without the fresh air and sun had been so dreary. Even with the bright and enduring spirits of everyone and the Underground’s natural, or rather, quite unnatural cycle of lighter and darker periods. Real, direct sunlight just has this quality about it, an indescribable warmth beyond that which is felt physically. And the air, so fresh and crisp. The breeze carries with it the scent of the seasons. The pollen and tree sap of spring, the light fragrance of flower beds in bloom and soft rain showers. The heavy moisture of the summer, cut grass and ripening fruit, the metallic smell of thunderstorms. The sharpness of freshly falling snow, the wood smoke and cookies from warm homes. Now, freshly fallen leaves and maple. The promise of cinnamon and pumpkin on the air.

         Grillby releases the deep breath he didn’t realize he had taken. _There’s nothing in the world quite like this._ Small smile on his face, Grillby continues down the block toward his bar, picking up the pace slightly as he realizes how much time he’d spent dawdling. He’s never opened late and doesn’t intend to do so today.

\-----

         The morning was quite slow, with only his regulars coming in. They were quite happy though, and asked no small number of questions. Where had he been? Was something wrong? He hadn’t fallen ill had he? Is there something they could do? And similar things along those lines. Grillby appreciated the intent behind their probing, he really did, but it began to get a mite tiresome. He has more regulars than he’d thought.

         Later around 10 or so Sans had come in and taken his usual seat at the counter. He hadn’t ordered anything, but Grillby had placed a bottle of ketchup in front of his old friend anyway. Concern for his friend’s wellbeing had spiked when Sans had looked up and given an appreciative nod, revealing the dark shadows beneath his unusually dim eyes. When questioned, Sans had dodged giving a straight answer, instead asking Grillby how he's holding up. He wanted to press the issue, but knowing Sans he’d never admit that he’s dealing with some sort of problem. So, instead Grillby answers. He’s doing as well as possible given the circumstances. Sans had nodded in a resigned way, as if already knowing that would be his answer. Just as the first few people of the lunch rush had come in, effectively ending their conversation, Sans had leaned over and whispered,

         “Don’t worry Grilbz. You know we’ve got this.” Grillby only has time to nod to his friend before having to leave and attend to the customers that had just walked in. He wasn’t able to stop and properly respond to Sans for the next hour and a half or so.

\-----

         The rush was most intense at about noon, with almost the entire bar filled at one point. Though it was a tad intense after two days off, Grillby appreciated the hectic energy. He was completely focused on making food and delivering orders, leaving no room for worries or the possible paranoia that the elusive Nightshade was among his customers. Only when the rush had died down did he allow his mind time to wander a bit. _Did I recognize all of the faces of everyone that came in? Surely the person I don’t will be Nightshade._ Doubt crosses his mind. _Unless… I already know them... Then I’d have no way to tell… No way to know…_ He shakes his head slightly. _No. I can’t think like that. This’ll get sorted out. I have to believe that._ On his stool Sans shifts slightly and shoots him a worried look. Grillby shakes his head slightly in response. Sans frowns, or at least frowns as much as he can. He shifts slightly again and leans forward across the bar as if to say something. He doesn’t get a chance to however, as the sound of the door opening, many footsteps and cheerful laughter draw the attention of flame man and skeleton alike.

         As he surveys the group, Grillby raises an invisible eyebrow. _I don’t think I’ve had this big a group come in in a while._ It’s a group of five people, all chatting with one another, bright smiles on their faces as they find a table and sit down. As he walks from behind the bar to take their orders, he just barely catches the look on Sans’ face before the skeleton quickly hops up and exits the bar, a hasty goodbye tossed over his shoulder. _What could be the matter now? What caused this reaction?_ Grillby peers after his friend, puzzled. The sound of bright chatter brings his attention back to the group that is now occupying one of the few free standing tables in the bar. _I’ll have to ask later._ He walks up the group, ready to take orders whenever they finish going through the menu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit late. Sorry about that. With the end of the school year approaching I've got an insane number of projects and general work to do. This chapter also didn't really want to happen. First part was pretty easy then BAM! no idea where to take it from that point. If this chapter isn't the best I'm sorry about that. Things'll be much more regular after the school year ends. If there are typos or strange word arrangements, feel free to let me know!


	3. Final Update for now.

Hi again everyone. It's been a while huh? And with all of the time I've been gone, I've come to a hard conclusion. I don't have the will to finish this fic currently. When my will to write this started to disappear, I blamed the stress of school and thought that when it ended I would come back motivated and refreshed. I didn't. Instead, my general interest in not only this fic, but the Undertale fandom in general dwindled. 

A few things caused this, all of them things to do with how I deal with fandom. My interest only lasts so long usually, and Undertale captured my interest longer than others. But everything comes to an end. Another factor is my recent descent onto the Overwatch fandom. When in most types of fandom, I tend to commit myself 100% to whatever I'm currently interested in. The combination of my fading interest and new obsession only confirmed what I feared would happen.

I will not finish this fic any time soon. I do hope to finish it at some point, but it will not be anywhere in the near future.

In realizing this, i told myself that I had to update all of you on this. Disappearing without saying anything wouldn't be right.

So I want to thank you guys. Thank you for the support and love you've shown this series. Thank you for reading.

Goodbye for now.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be (hopefully) a pretty long running fic. The update schedule will be basically nonexistent, since I have a lot of stuff going on usually (I'll sometimes post updates on my Tumblr stillwater-garden.tumblr.com). (Chapter length will also vary, it all depends on whenever I run out of ideas for that particular part). If you spot any mistakes, be sure to let me know! My proof read skills can be less than stellar.


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